


White Raven

by manfred_stone



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Blood, Emo Kylo Ren, I'm Bad At Tagging, Kylo Ren Has Issues, POV Kylo Ren, POV Second Person, Post-Canon, Short One Shot, Stream of Consciousness, idk what to say its the first thing i publish, this wasn't meant to be fandom related but then it became kinda kylo ren
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-10-01 03:35:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10179761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manfred_stone/pseuds/manfred_stone
Summary: You have always imagined your end. You have wondered whether it would have been in battle, side by side with your soldiers, or if it would have been in your comfortable quarters, betrayed by a single trooper, who'd sold you to the rebellion.However, never have you imagined it would have been like this.You are alone.





	

**Author's Note:**

> this is a very short thing I wrote which wasn't meant to be kylo-related but then it turned out to be 100% emo-ren  
> english isn't my first language and I'm a very unfocused person so please excuse any mistake..

 

 

You have always imagined your end.  
You have wondered whether it would have been in battle, side by side with your soldiers, or if it would have been in your comfortable quarters, betrayed by a single trooper, who'd sold you to the rebellion.  
However, never have you imagined it would have been like this.

_You are alone._

 

Death is darkness and you are confused, because you have never experienced as much light as in this moment: light surrounds you, light is slowly soaking into your swollen, aching flesh. There is light into your veins, and denying it won't make you less of a light being.  
Blood loss makes you pale, makes you weak. Weak means useless.  
Look at your surroundings, is that white the one of your comfortable sheets? or is it the one of clouds in the sky?  
It's the white of the purest of lights, the colour which does not suit you.  
  
You've always thought of yourself as the black stain, the nonconformist, the stranger.  
However, no one seemed to believe you, you were told you were meant for greatness. They didn't listen to your muted advises, they didn't believe you weren't white. Perhaps you didn't want to disappoint your beloveds when you forced yourself on the white path, smiling, sadly mouthing _"I'm alright."_  
  
The greatness you were supposed to achieve looked further every passing day.

 

> _**Breathe in.** _

  
Do not cry, because it means vulnerability.  
Those tears on your cheeks scar you more than your actual wounds, they injure the pride and the honour you've been putting together by yourself, year by year.  
Slowly, tears light it up and set it on fire.  
Flames and ashes are what remains of your older self, the weak, the foolish child, who had wandered into the light path to please others but not yourself.  
Mixing up with your ignitable blood, you turn into wrath, which often overflows out of you. The burning pain of your wounds is nothing compared to your own flames.  
You feel this fire bursting into your chest, you feel strong again.

 

> _**Breathe in.** _

  
Somehow you're again on your feet, your sword as a cane.  
Left leg trembling, moves forward and is soon joined by its right sister, and then again, and again.

 

> _**Breathe in.** _

  
Pain is unreal. You do not feel pain. You feel anger flowing within your blood.  
Your blood is made of anger, made of undying fire.  
You must believe you are immortal.  
Darkness makes you immortal, but you are a being of light.  
You are mortal, you are dying.

 

> _**Breathe in.** _

  
You fell down, soaking the white with your melted crimson flames.  
This time, you know you won't rise again, as you are not darkness.  
You crave darkness, you surround your own thoughts with shadows and you live your life in the meadow of the obscure path, but you are not dark.  
Your tight grip on the sword reminds you of the day you crafted it out of a scarlet gem, believing it would have accompanied you in your twisted journey, although that sword failed you more times than you can count.  
  
It mirrors you.  
_Unstable, dangerous, explosive._  
Like a crippling camp fire, which, having once burst with energy, it burns down slowly and then finally dies down.  
These are your last moments.

 

> _**Breathe in** — you can't._

  
Your lungs refuse to work properly and you begin gasping, gripping tightly onto the freezing white, mutely screaming for help. The taste of blood in your mouth is almost as strong as your will to live, but it's not enough.  
It has always been about being enough, hasn't it?  
You weren't enough for the light side, too young yet too corrupted, ruined, unfixable.  
The dark side welcomed you as one of their own, in addition, gave you the training you'd never had, then it left you here to die.  
You betrayed the light for the dark, then the dark side betrayed you.  
You would think you deserve this ending.  
You are right.  
The light inside you doesn't forgive the child, who, too frightened by the immense greatness he was given, let the dark within his soul.  
However the light forgives the man, who has murdered his own father and slaughtered many others. Out of the blue, light isn't anymore as bitter, it is warm, it is welcoming.  
You feel it pulling you to it.

You vomit your own blood and tinge the snow with crimson sin.

You are exhausted.  
You close your eyes.

 

**Exhale.**


End file.
